


Paper can't wrap up a fire

by marrjoram



Category: Hellsing
Genre: Bloodplay, F/F, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-17
Updated: 2012-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-11 02:13:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1167416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marrjoram/pseuds/marrjoram
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little spin on the bleeding finger idea. How Victoria Seras became a real vampire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paper can't wrap up a fire

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is from my Dreamwidth. It's pretty old - it spent a very long time in a drawer before I actually posted it.

The room is dark and smells funny, of dust and smoke and other things, impossible to name, impossible to ignore. There’s light coming through the cracked-open door and pooling on the floor, and Victoria can see tiny specks dancing and swirling in the illuminated air. Dust. Dust everywhere, like the room is a mausoleum, existing in honour of things long gone, never graced with the presence of a living person.

Sir Integra is sitting at her desk, still as a statue, fitting easily and seamlessly into the oppressive atmosphere. Victoria can see her, but only because her senses aren’t what they used to be. She isn’t what she used to be. It still scares her, her strength, her body’s reactions. She’s afraid because she can’t control it all that well, this new body of hers.

She feels unsettled. It’s the first time she’s in Sir Integra’s office. She doesn’t know why her boss summoned her here, and it makes her uncomfortable. Sir Integra makes her uncomfortable, for all she’s also so very intriguing. Victoria fears her, possibly, even more than she fears her Master, although not in the same way. Sir Integra is cold and smooth and calculating. One can never know what she’s thinking. It frightens Victoria, because this woman is the person who decides how – and how long – Victoria lives.

Victoria doesn’t like the fact that she’s here, in this office, after hours, when everyone is long gone, home, or on a mission. Or on a long awaited hunt, like her Master is. It probably means her boss isn’t very satisfied with her performance so far. She can’t blame Sir Integra, she understands her purpose here. But still, Victoria cannot bring herself to cross that one last line. Every time she smells blood, she feels it in her mouth, her throat, her belly, her veins. The blood is always cold, deep crimson against white porcelain dish, but its presence makes Victoria hot. It scorches her will, a little more every time. When there’s blood, her body craves it with an intensity that scares her. Her mind is repulsed by it as strongly. Up until now the mind always won, but Victoria knows. It’s only a matter of time.

Knowing this, she realizes she should stop resisting. But she can’t. Now, looking at Sir Integra in this cold, impersonal room, she knows the time will have to come sooner rather than later. She can see it in her boss’ eyes, the reason she’s standing here.

Sir Integra is sitting in her chair, large and wooden, and intimidating, just like she is. But tonight, Victoria realizes as she focuses her gaze, Sir Integra looks less formal than normally, less daunting. Her glasses are folded neatly and lying on the desk. She’s wearing only her shirt, the two top buttons undone, the collar open. It’s the most uncovered Victoria’s ever seen her, and it sends a shiver down her back. Sir Integra looks a little bit vulnerable like this, more feminine, and Victoria suddenly understands how young she actually is. Only a little older than Victoria herself. It’s so easy to forget in the harsh light of day, when all her defences are in place. But now Sir Integra looks softer somehow, more approachable. Victoria knows better, though. She doesn’t let herself get fooled by that softness. The look in Sir Integra’s eyes, barely visible in the absence of light, is cold, steel-like.

Victoria waits in silence, for an instruction, an order, anything. In the couple of minutes since Walter announced her and left there were no words, only Sir Integra’s gaze steady and measuring on Victoria. She refuses to squirm under that gaze, but it’s getting more and more difficult. Finally, Sir Integra breaks the silence, and it’s so sudden that it leaves Victoria’s ears ringing.

“Seras, Victoria.” Sir Integra says in a seemingly detached tone, as if reading from a file, “20, formerly of London Metropolitan Police. Specialty: firearms. Current status: Hellsing Organization employee. Draculina.” She still looks directly into Victoria’s eyes as she speaks.

“It would seem that you were a valuable acquisition to our Organization, Officer Seras. All those skills and experience in the field. And young enough to still be untouched, how unusual these days.” She cocks her head in something that might be interpreted as wonder if any other person did it. Victoria doesn’t know what it means for Sir Integra. “And yet. Yet, even though we have you, my dear Draculina, we cannot use your power to our advantage. Not fully. Why is that?”

Victoria doesn’t know if it’s expected of her to answer. She ducks her head, starts saying “I..”, but Sir Integra interrupts her, “I realize that recent events might have been somewhat hard to process, but it’s been days, weeks really, and your power is still not fully realized. Why is that?” That question again, and Victoria doesn’t know how to answer.

She’s aware that by refusing to drink blood she’s weakening herself, cannot be put to proper use. May impede the whole team. Knows that the blood brought for her doesn’t come with a price of human life. No-one suffered so she could get it. Well, not much, anyway. But she’s still afraid. It’s human blood. She’s scared. What if she starts and cannot stop. It will change her, in ways that none of the physical features she gained as Draculina did. She will feed on humans. The thought paralyzes her, but what is far more frightening is the fact, that, somewhere inside, she’s thrilled. She can’t wait. Her body, for all the miraculous upgrades it got, turned cold and lifeless after her change. She can’t really feel anything. But just the promise of blood, just the thought of it, it runs so hot and hard through her body. If she actually drank it, Victoria Seras would be gone forever. That’s why.

But she can’t say it. By agreeing to this she committed herself. She has responsibilities she cannot avoid. Nor does she want to. Those two things, they can’t both be had. And she’s already chosen.

Sir Integra’s still watching her, but it doesn’t look like she’s waiting for a reply. Victoria supposes she is well aware of all the reservations Victoria has. Did she summon her here to intimidate her into feeding? If so, Victoria thinks, it won’t take long for her to succeed.

But Sir Integra doesn’t seem to want it. She looks steadily into Victoria’s eyes and says “Come closer, Draculina”. Her voice is low and sweet, but tone bears no objection. Victoria obeys. It’s the only thing she can do when the Master of her Master asks. She steps closer to the desk, her knees brushing the wooden surface of it, and it’s the only thing that separates them now, a wooden desk, a meter of space.

Sir Integra pushes her chair back from the desk, into the wall, and repeats “Closer”. Victoria stares at her, momentarily rooted to the spot. What is actually expected of her here?

She shakes herself and goes. It’s not like she has a choice. She comes to a halt at Sir Integra’s feet, stands in front of her, trapped between her chair and the wooden edge of the desk. Sir Integra’s looking at her, and there’s something new in her eyes, something that Victoria can’t name but what makes the anticipation of the things soon to come thrilling, less scary. “I will help you reach your full potential, Draculina” Says Sir Integra, “We cannot let such a thing go to waste because of some ridiculous concerns”, her words are cutting but her voice is full of promise, dark and rich.  
She reaches behind Victoria and picks something up from the desk. Her arm is circling around Victoria’s body and she inhales slowly, Sir Integra’s smell filling her up. It’s the same smell as the room, and Victoria realizes that’s how she’s always smelled. Of past and regret, dust and things too old to even be rotting anymore. There’s so much mixed in that scent, and it’s almost nice, not at all offensive, but it unsettles. The smell of loss and matters that can’t be undone.

Sir Integra pulls her hand back and Victoria can see what it was that she went searching for. In her left hand she holds a long and thin blade, gleaming silver in the sparse light. A letter opener. Victoria draws in a sharp breath. Suddenly she knows what’s about to happen here. Panic envelops her and she wants to run, she cannot allow it. Cannot. But Sir Integra got a hold on her, and her hand is steady and certain as it grips Victoria’s wrist. She doesn’t have to say anything. The message it clear. Stay. And it’s not a request.

Victoria doesn’t want this. She can hear the beating of Sir Integra’s heart, loud and regular, can feel the rushing of her blood through the fingers touching Victoria’s wrist. It vibrates through her own body, whispering sweet, sinful promises, waking her up. She can feel the heat, the anticipation building inside her. The want. She has to get out of here.

That’s not happening, though. Sir Integra lets go of Victoria’s wrist and Victoria doesn’t move, even when her mind screams go. She looks with a detached interest at Sir Integra’s hands as she lifts the knife up and puts it to her right index finger. Sir Integra presses the blade down, starting at the tip, and drags it down across her skin, the cut clean and deep, blood welling up rapidly.

Victoria is frozen. If she thought the smell of cold blood in a cup was mesmerizing and hard to resist, then this is something… Something against which any and all resistance would be pointless. It’s warm, and deep red, and so full of life. Victoria watches mesmerized as a crimson drop escapes the cut and runs down Sir Integra’s palm. She does what she can to hold onto her sanity, but it’s a losing battle. Sir Integra’s blood is too tempting, she wants it inside her, warming her up, keeping her alive. Making her feel.

Sir Integra says nothing, just puts the knife away and brings Victoria closer to her. She lifts her hand and Victoria almost keens, the want is so strong inside her. She wants to stop, really, really wants to. But it’s too late. Sir Integra puts the bleeding finger against Victoria’s mouth and she’s gone.

She greedily sucks the finger in, and starts drinking, licking off the blood, swirling her tongue around the finger, pushing it in and out of the bleeding wound. The taste is amazing, wonderful, like liquefied heat, metallic and salty, and as it slides down her throat she feels her body awakening. Every cell in her sings in anticipation and she wants more, more, sucks ferociously at the cut, probing it time and again, pushing out more of that delicious warmness. It feels so good, she moans around her mouthful, and her knees nearly give out. But she doesn’t care, just keeps sucking.

She feels a hand tug her down, and she straddles Sir Integra on the chair. It gives her enough support to stop paying attention to the quivering of her body, the lightness in her head, and just drink, and drink, and drink.

When the finger withdraws from her mouth, Victoria wants to protest. It wasn’t enough. More, she needs… But she’s unable to do anything, the blood rushing in her making her pliant and shaken. She has to close her eyes, the room suddenly so bright, all the noises so much louder, and she can’t stand it all. She needs more. It was so good, how could she resist such a wonderful, wicked thing for so long. She can’t control her body, and would be surprised at how weak that little sip left her, if she had the strength to contemplate such things.

She feels warm, hot even, for the first time in so long. Her body awakened and demands fulfilment. She can hear Sir Integra’s blood in her own veins and it makes her desire skyrocket. She feels heat pool in her belly, low and aching and so sweet. She’s getting wet, wetter, feels slickness between her legs. She realizes her hips are moving in a steady, rolling motion. She should feel embarrassed, will be later, but now she doesn’t care. All she feels, all she is, is want.

Victoria looks up into Sir Integra’s eyes and is stunned at what she sees there. The arousal tightens in her belly even more, sending tendrils of heat through her body. Sir Integra puts her bleeding finger in the opening of her collar, and as Victoria watches, she smears blood all over the side of her neck. Her hair falls on her face and gets caught up in it, turns red and beautiful in the darkness.

Sir Integra puts Victoria’s head against her neck and Victoria is lost again. In the heat and the smell and the rhythmic pumping of Sir Integra’s heart. She starts licking at the smeared blood, humming and moaning, her hips speeding up a little. She feels a hand bury itself in the hair on her nape. The other hand is sliding down her body, from her shoulder to her knee, and then up again, along her leg. Up underneath her skirt and oh. Oh. She almost stops licking, but the hand on her neck urges her on, not to stop.

The blood is almost all gone now, but Victoria doesn’t know what she wants anymore. She still craves the hot stream of salty liquid down her throat, but the hand up her skirt is distracting, not moving yet, but so close to the other point of need on her body. Then Victoria realizes that it's Sir Integra’s right hand that’s down there and she whimpers, the thought shooting through her, burning spikes of arousal she’s never experienced before. She rests her head on Sir Integra’s shoulder, where it meets her neck and the pulse is thrumming in a sweet, tantalizing rhythm, and pants quietly. The puffs she exhales move the reddish curtain of Sir Integra’s hair.

Sir Integra’s breathing is steady, only a little sped up. She rubs her thumb on Victoria’s nape, pulling her closer to the pulsing temptation of her neck, and says, as she starts to move her other hand, “Do it.”

Victoria doesn’t need to think what that means. She lifts her head a little and puts her mouth on the thrumming point. She can feel fingers between her legs, only a thin layer of cloth separating them from her cool skin, and she shivers in anticipation. She pulls up her upper lip and presses her teeth, long and sharp, to the pulse on Sir Integra’s neck.

As Victoria bites and her teeth cut through all the tender tissues that separate her from the most delicious thing in the world, she can feel fingers slipping into her panties. She can’t stop the moan that escapes her and she has to let go of the smooth skin for a moment, she can’t breathe. She knows that it’s the cut finger that’s sliding through her folds, can smell the blood from the wound mixing with her own slick, and it makes her so hot. The hand beneath her skirt is moving, unfaltering. It’s all so overwhelming, so good, the taste and the smell. The smell. She almost forgets everything, concentrated of the movement between her legs and the scent that’s filling up the room, surrounding them. But then the hand on her nape is pressing her down and, yes, she remembers.

She sinks her teeth into heavenly wetness and starts sucking, licking at the broken skin. She moves in rhythm with the fingers inside her panties, on her clit, inside of her, in and out, over and over again. She can feel warmth trickling down her chin as he drinks, and her thighs are slick and sweaty, she’s so wet, so hot, scorching. The warmth inside her belly, in her mouth, in her, and she can feel something tremendous building in her body. She is shaking violently, but doesn’t let go of Sir Integra’s neck, sucks greedily at what she’s being offered. The fingers inside her push and push, relentless, and she’s getting closer, closer. So close, she sucks harder, and the fingers move faster, and suddenly all of it explodes, the heat in her belly overflowing, brilliant light blinding her, and she’s coming. She shudders and spasms through her climax, and Sir Integra holds her close through it all.

Victoria comes to slowly, disoriented and weak. She feels strange, powerful and boneless at the same time. She’s still sitting in Sir Integra’s lap, straddling her. Sir Integra has one arm curled tight around her waist, grounding her, keeping her close. The other one’s still under her skirt, moving delicately over Victoria through her panties, now completely soaked. She shivers. She can still smell the heady combination of blood and her arousal mixed together on Sir Integra’s fingers. She looks up and sees Sir Integra looking at her, not quite a smile, but full of something warm anyhow.

The smell in the room is different now, still full of dust, but also rich in fresh coppery tang, and something acidic, and underlying it all is a curious mix of Victoria and Sir Integra, together, something alive.

Victoria straightens up and Sir Integra lets go of her waist. Her throat is still bleeding, the white of the shirt dyed deep crimson red. She removes her right hand from between Victoria’s legs. Before she has a chance to say or do anything, Victoria takes hold of the hand and smiles at her shyly.

She puts Sir Integra’s right hand to her mouth and licks it clean.


End file.
